


Better

by thepocketdragon



Series: Sing to me Instead [8]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Post PP3, bechloe - Freeform, pp3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepocketdragon/pseuds/thepocketdragon
Summary: Being on her own has never been one of Chloe Beale’s strong suits. When Amy decides to stay in Europe to spend her new fortune and Beca's flight home is suddenly redirected to LA so she can start work, Chloe is left alone for the first time in their apartment.It turns out, when there's nobody to share it with, the gaps everyone has left feel too big to cope with. There's too much space and, suddenly, Chloe can't help but admit that she misses Beca more than she's ever said out loud.An introspective take on Chloe's inability to be alone. One shot. Set post-PP3 (but Chicago doesn't exist- one of the perks of artistic license I guess).
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: Sing to me Instead [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021515
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	Better

**Author's Note:**

> This is a standalone one shot which forms part of the 'Sing to me Instead' series, in which I listen to a track from Ben Platt's first album and think about Beca, Chloe and their toners for one another. 
> 
> As always, this has been written freeform in one sitting and is unbeta'd and largely unedited. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome.

**BETTER**

Being on her own has never been one of Chloe Beale’s strong suits.

She’s a people person, through and through, and the idea of being alone for any length of time makes her itchy and uncomfortable. Usually, she’s the first to suggest a party or a dinner or a games night in order to surround herself with people; important people who make her smile. It’s part of the reason she had been so reluctant to leave college. She had people there, so many people. It doesn’t come as a surprise to anybody that she only graduated when she had the option to move to New York with two of her best friends.

That drive to be around people has shaped her life. From joining her first ever dance class in elementary school through to somehow ending up touring Europe with her old acapella group years after college had ended, every decision has been shaped by friendship, by other people. She’s a team player. She likes noise and chaos and the buzz of other people crammed into a space. She likes having someone to talk to and someone to laugh with. She’s never been happy to be on her own. It’s not something she can even pretend to like or need.

It took time, but Chloe knows herself well enough to know that she needs other people around her, to help her. When there’s a question in her head, Chloe needs other people to help her answer it. People who know her better than she knows herself.

Maybe that’s why it feels so suffocating to be in her Brooklyn apartment on her own. Maybe that’s why the silence feels so heavy. Amy’s side of the room looks just as it did when they left before the tour, but Chloe doesn’t think it will stay that way for long. Amy is the sort of person who will very quickly use her new-found fortune to buy an extravagant mansion somewhere and fill it with attractive people who bend to her every whim. She’ll be happy. Chloe will be happy for her.

Beca’s stuff is as haphazardly stuffed into boxes and drawers as it has always been. Chloe has half a mind to rearrange it, to sort it properly, but she doesn’t want to deal with the idea of what that might mean. There’s a question beginning to grow in her head, the question of whether Beca’s redirected flight from New York to LAX is the beginning of a new chapter. She’s off, doing her own thing, with a promoter and a manager and an entire team of people whose job it is to shape her into an ‘artist’.

She knows Beca probably won’t look like she’s enjoying it, but Chloe bets she is at least enjoying the space. The quiet. She’d find it peaceful. Chloe can’t comprehend that. Chloe doesn’t do the whole ‘lone wolf’ thing. She can’t understand why Beca would ever enjoy it. She’s been home, alone, for less than an hour and already she’s desperate for company.

The problem is, the company she’s desperate for is half the world away, surrounded by people she doesn’t want to spend any time with.

The irony isn’t lost on Chloe, but it doesn’t make it any easier to cope with.

Chloe Beale is simply better when she’s not alone.

///

Her first stop is the shower.

After weeks of fresh, clean, European air, Brooklyn feels filthy. The shower feels tiny and Chloe is certain it will take far longer to feel refreshed than it has done in any of the swanky hotel bathrooms she’s grown used to.

She almost announces that she’s going to take a shower before she realises there’s nobody to listen.

The silence in the apartment is stifling. Chloe misses the battles that would happen when Amy and Beca both wanted to play their music. She misses the noisy arguments, the bickering that went on between them. She even misses Amy’s singing, although only slightly. Only because she needs _something_ to fill the silence.

As she waits for the temperamental shower to sputter to life, Chloe scrolls through her phone. For a moment, she feels the urge to call Beca, to check in. She quickly shakes the thought out of her head, realising the time difference, and opens Spotify instead. She searches her playlists until she finds the handful she’s saved over the years; playlists Beca had curated for road trips and parties and specific moments which require a soundtrack. She finds her favourite, the one simply titled ‘Apartment Ambience’, and presses play.

In the safety of the shower, Chloe lets the music and the hot water envelop her. She can pretend, from behind the curtain, that the apartment still feels too small. She can pretend that Beca is simply on the other side, headphones clamped to her ears as she mixes tracks on her laptop. She can pretend that there are dinner plans which are more than the single box of mac and cheese she hopes is still left in the cupboard. The shower and the music are loud and distracting enough that she doesn’t think about anything else.For a moment, everything feels normal.

Until she reaches out for the shampoo and glances between two bottles. Until she makes a choice. Until the familiar, fruity scent fills her senses.

It’s almost overpowering, the rush Chloe feels as she breathes in. It’s a scent she has been familiar with for a long time; Beca has used the same brand of shampoo since college. It was there the day she barged into her shower and they wound up duetting in the nude. It was there when Chloe pulled Beca close the day they won their first title. It billowed out of the bathroom in clouds of steam in the house they shared. The scent lingered on Chloe’s pillow, the one Beca would use whenever she crashed in her room after planning a set or staying up late to talk. After weeks of separate rooms or, at the very least, separate beds, Chloe can no longer fight the urge to bring a little of Beca back into her space. _Their_ space.

She had thought it would be a remedy; that it would stop her from missing her.

It doesn’t.

It makes things worse.

Chloe, jet-lagged and sad and already fed up of being alone in their shitty apartment, dries her hair and pulls on clean pyjamas before climbing into bed and rolling onto her side, ignoring the empty space behind her.

The mac and cheese stays in the cupboard for another night.

///

The light of the morning doesn’t change much. The sun doesn’t bring optimism or brighten her mood. Instead, it shines a light on her situation and makes everything a little clearer. Chloe can see how much dust has gathered on the surfaces in the apartment whilst they’ve been away. She can see the remnants of scrubbed out items on their grocery list. She can see the spaces left by the things Beca took: the spot where she charges her phone at night, the holder on her bedside table reserved for her fancy headphones, the gap in the bookshelf which Chloe knows usually contains a dog-eared copy of Little Women inscribed with ‘Property of Rebecca Mitchell, age 10 1/2’ in a shaky cursive. In the light of day, it’s harder to pretend any of this is easy. It’s harder to try and convince herself that she can grow from this.

Chloe can admit that she’s lost on her own. She’s a grown woman, an independent woman, but she isn’t her whole self when she’s alone. Her purpose, her direction, her energy, it all comes from other people. It’s a painful truth, but Chloe can admit- in the cold, harsh light of day- that a part of her didn’t make it home from the USO tour.

A part of her is in California. In Los Angeles.

It isn’t a part of her Chloe knows if she will ever get back.

It’s a thought that begins as a metaphor, the idea of some soulful element of Chloe being attached to Beca, following her through meetings without her ever realising it is there. As Chloe pulls herself out of bed and begins to sort through her laundry, the concept very quickly becomes real as she realises that her favourite sweater, the soft grey sweater she wears whenever she’s in need of comfort, isn’t in her case.

She shoots off a quick email to their final hotel to check, but Chloe thinks that it’s most likely to be with Beca’s things.

It’s strangely comforting to think that at least a piece of her has made it out to LA.

She can’t help but wonder if Beca took it on purpose.

She hopes she did.

///

There is a part of Chloe that is terrified of being forgotten.

She’s always been consumed with a fear of loneliness; it’s a fear that grew into an addiction to holding on to the past. It’s the fear that kept her in college for far too long and it’s the fear that has her living on the fringes of Williamsburg in an apartment never meant for three just because Beca asked.

It’s the fear that eats at her as she sits, alone, and turns on the TV to fill the silence.

Her eyes cast over Beca’s piles of vinyl records, the spot where her mixing equipment usually sits, next to the notebooks that are still full of inspired ideas for mashups and acapella performances they never got the chance to use. Chloe knows that Beca will be beyond any of it in a handful of years; she’ll have brand new equipment and a vinyl player that doesn’t scratch and she’ll be given the rare vintage records on her wish list instead of Chloe having to search for them at the back of the thrift store in the weeks leading up to her birthday. The notebooks, the ideas for the Bellas she had stored up over their four years in college, won’t be opened anymore. They will simply sit and grow old, a relic to remind her of the past.

Chloe can’t help but worry that, if Beca doesn’t need any of that stuff- any of those reminders of her old life-, she won’t need her, either. She can’t help but worry that Beca will forget her, will move on and leave her in the dust. She can’t help but worry that Beca simply won’t come back and that she will be sat, waiting, in this shitty apartment on her own for the rest of her life.

The problem is, Chloe knows she will wait.

She can’t help but hold on.

It’s the one thing keeping her afloat.

///

Sleep doesn’t come as easily as it should. After everything Chloe’s body and mind have been through in the last week, she should be exhausted.

She is, she realises, but rest evades her.

The night begins with frustration, a discomfort with the sheets that aren’t quite sitting right against her body. There is too much fabric and there’s no resistance when she pulls the corner up to her chin. She tucks the other side underneath her hips just to make it feel as if something is holding it down. She’s usually pretty good at pretending, but the night makes it harder.

The bed is cold. Chloe tries to keep her arms in, by her side, terrified of the stark reminder of her loneliness that would come each and every time her fingers brushed against the cold cover of Beca’s untouched pillow. She knows, realistically, that she should appreciate the space that comes with having a bed to herself. She knows, in her head, that this is normal for a grown-up, single woman. She knows, but she can’t help but feel, in the darkness of the empty apartment, that there must be a reason she can’t rest like this.

Chloe has caught herself falling into traps like this too many times. She knows how to stop, the tips of her toes dancing precariously on the edge. She’s always been able to hold herself back; somehow, somewhere along the way, she decided it was safer.

Safer not to think. Safer not to feel. Safer to just let herself exist in this limbo they had created and ignore everything else.

It had been easy before. Easy to lock the door to their apartment and convince herself that this type of closeness was just a simple friendship intensified by existing in too small a space. It had been easy to fill her time; to live day by day without ever needing to answer the lingering question in her head. Chloe had always been good at finding distractions. She was usually able to find things in the apartment to keep herself busy when she had time to herself. She had always been good at filling her head to stop her anxious mind from bringing up the questions she knew she couldn’t answer on her own.

It is only now, as the flimsy curtains fail to keep out much of the light from the street outside and the sound of car horns and revving engines reminds Chloe just how far away she is from _home,_ that she realises that everything- every item she would usually use to distract herself- is somehow linked to _her_. It’s impossible to escape the fact, in the dim, orange glow of the neon sign from the bodega across the street, that Chloe has filled every empty space with Beca.

Her hair fans out behind her on her pillow as she stares up at the stained ceiling, tears of frustration building in her eyes. She can’t help but wonder what Beca would say if she could see her. Beca has always known her- the strange, incongruous parts of herself- better than anyone else. She would see through any front Chloe put up. She had, many times, been there when Chloe couldn’t sleep. She would lean close, sometimes, placing a reassuring hand on her back or reaching out for her hand. She seemed to know that Chloe needed to be reminded that she wasn’t alone; that she wasn’t forgotten.

The tears fall as Chloe’s thoughts take her to the future; to the root of her worries.

Loss.

Loneliness.

Separation.

Silence.

It isn’t losing Beca that scares her the most. Chloe has been used to the idea, has been preparing herself for Beca to need to move closer to people who can truly make her shine, since the end of college.

She’s scared of losing herself.

Scared that being far away from Beca will leave her incomplete.

Beca has always known her better than she’s known herself, has been able to see through the facade and pull the truth from her lips. She would know that Chloe doesn’t want to let go; that she isn’t ready for things to change.

It isn’t the facts that scare Chloe; it’s the reason.

Chloe can’t answer the ‘why’.

Not yet.

Slowly, she closes her eyes. It doesn’t surprise her that her mind is full of Beca.

Maybe, she admits, it might be easier to answer the question in the dark.

Maybe, she thinks as she finally puts herself to sleep, the answer has always been there.

It’s in the empty spaces.

///

Chloe knows Beca must have realised something was wrong when she didn’t call.

For some reason, the idea of hearing Beca’s voice would make the space feel bigger; would make the silence she’s surrounded with the rest of the day feel even more unbearable.

Beca knows Chloe. She knows her well enough not to push.

Chloe just hopes that she doesn’t take her lack of communication the wrong way; that she doesn’t see it as Chloe cutting the cord and embracing her freedom. The truth is, Chloe doesn’t feel free without Beca. Beca isn’t her anchor. She was never weighing her down. Instead, she’s a buoy. She keeps Chloe afloat.

As much as she has tried to survive without her in the few days she’s been away, surviving is all Chloe has managed. Living would require more energy. Energy that Chloe has spent on overthinking and analysing and simply missing Beca’s presence around her.

It’s certainly an addiction, she thinks. It’s an addiction to the way Beca makes her feel; to the way she stokes the flames within her and gives her life a purpose. It’s an addiction she has to admit to, now. Now she’s had to live without it, she can see just how much of her is wrapped up in Beca Mitchell.

The Beca Mitchell who will be going away again soon.

The Beca Mitchell the entire world will know before long.

The Beca Mitchell who is about to leave her old life behind.

Chloe doesn’t want to think about where that leaves her, but she can’t help it. She can’t shy away from the wave of anxiety that crashes over her at the idea that this- this horrible, lonely existence in this awful apartment- might become normal.

She hates herself for crying. She hates that she’s feeling such despair and such pain when Beca is finally flying. A part of her tells her that Beca needs her to let go so that she can soar. A part of her can’t help but think that she’s spent the last seven years holding Beca back. That it is only her who needs, craves, the symbiotic partnership they’ve fallen into. That she’s pathetic and useless and needs to get a grip and grow up. That her vice-like grip on Beca’s coat tails won’t last forever. That, at some point, Beca will simply shrug her off.

It’s an irrational fear that Chloe can never say out loud. It’s a fear that covers the truth. The uncomfortable truth that has been lingering in the shadows, in the gaps Beca has left and the gaps Chloe has filled with the simple idea of her. It’s a truth that sits with the idea that Beca knows her better than anyone, that she somehow needs Beca to hold a piece of her and take it with her.

She can’t pretend that she likes being on her own, and the answer to ‘why’ is pushing, now, trying to force its way past her lips. It’s part of the reason she can’t call. She’s scared that, when she hears Beca’s voice, when she feels that piece of herself slot back into place, she’ll be unable to stop. That she’ll say it, all of it, out loud.

That the truth might be the thing that finally pushes them apart.

That the part of her Beca has held will be left, scuffed and damaged on the ground.

That Chloe will fall and there will be nobody there to catch her.

Chloe wonders whether the hurt will die down if she gets the words out somehow. If, instead of saying it into the empty air, she finds another way.

And, so, she writes.

///

_Dear Beca,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t called. I hope you had a good trip._

_I missed you._

_I feel awful admitting this, but I hope you missed me too. Not because I want you to hurt, but because then I’d know that you understand what I mean by what I’m about to say. (I don’t think I need to explain, really. You’ve always known me better than I know myself. At least, I think you do. I guess the proof will be in how much of my crazy rambling makes sense to you)._

_I need you to understand how unbearable I find the quiet. I need you to hear me when I say how lost I’ve been without you. I’ve filled every empty space with you for so long and- without you here- all I’ve been able to do is miss you. I’ve missed the way you make me strong and the way you make me smile. I’ve missed the way you keep me warm and the way you know just what to say and what to do when I can’t sleep._

_I’m not writing this to make you feel guilty. I just… I can’t pretend that being ‘free’ from any part of you is what I want. I’m clinging on to the idea that you kept my sweater with you. I think, on some level, I’m hoping that might mean that you need me, too. I’m hoping that I make you whole, too._

_You have always made me the best version of myself, Beca._

_I never really asked why before. Not until, suddenly, you weren’t there to give me any of the answers and all I was left with was questions._

_If you know me as well as I think you do, you probably already know._

_You probably already understand what it means to want to be this close to you; to need to be pulled into your gravity in order to keep moving. You probably saw the hundreds of times I stopped myself. Maybe you knew I was scared of falling._

_Maybe you knew that it was because I didn’t know what I was falling into._

_I guess there’s a final question on my mind, though._

_It’s an easy one, but one I can’t answer on my own._

_If I let myself fall, Becs, will anyone be there to catch me?_

_Will you?_

///

Being on her own has never been one of Chloe Beale’s strong suits.

She knows it’s the reason why her stomach drops as she trudges up the stairs to the apartment. The unbearable weight of the quiet is too much and, as time ticks closer to Beca’s flight landing at JFK, it is amplified. She has a bag full of groceries- including all of Beca’s favourites- and a list of tasks she can do to keep her anxious hands busy as she waits.

The first task on her list, she thinks as she unlocks the apartment door, is to tear up the ridiculous, emotional letter she wrote in her state the night before.

The letter in which she poured out everything she can’t bear to say out loud.

The letter which contains far too much truth.

The letter which is currently in Beca’s hands.

The grocery bag falls to the floor, a single lime rolling to a stop at the edge of the kitchen table. It’s only after Beca has bent down to pick it up that she finally looks up and makes eye contact.

“You… you’re here.”

Chloe can see the tears, the worry. She knows, deep down, that Beca doesn’t have the words to respond to her. She chastises herself for being so careless, for saying things that might make her best friend feel guilty or angry or as if- somehow- it was down to her to fix Chloe’s messy mind. She opens her mouth, desperately trying to find the words to apologise, when Beca stands and pulls her into a tight hug.

The paper clatters against her back as Beca holds her. Chloe can’t help but breathe deeply, the familiar scent and the warmth of her arms finally making her feel whole again.

She scrunches her eyes closed, trying too hard not to think about what that means.

“Of course I missed you.” Beca’s voice is real. It takes a moment to sink in. Chloe feels herself relax as the room becomes less stifling. “I love you, you idiot.”

Laughter and tears both break free of their chains at the same time, falling unencumbered as Chloe’s hand clamps over her mouth. “Sorry” she tries to say, but Beca simply smiles knowingly and pulls her back into her embrace.

“That… that is what you were trying to say, right? In your letter. I… please tell me I haven’t massively misread it?”

Chloe looks up, her eyes meeting stormy blue, and sighs. Slowly, she takes in Beca’s concerned expression.

“You… you love me, right? Like, like…” Chloe doesn’t think she’s ever seen Beca like this. In that moment, she can’t help but wonder if- actually- being away from her has been just as difficult. If, somehow, they need each other. Beca takes a shaky breath. “Okay, let me ask more directly because clearly we’ve both spent far too long skirting around it. I guess, what I’m asking is whether you love me the same way I love you? Is that what you were trying to say?”

All Chloe can do in response is lean in and press her lips against Beca’s.

She feels Beca smiling as her hand reaches out to stroke along her jaw, her lips parting slightly.

Their lips join again and something within Chloe clicks.

She finally has her answer.

Chloe Beale has always been better when she’s not alone, but it’s when she’s with Beca that she’s the best version of herself.

With Beca, the future doesn’t feel so scary.

After all, she knows she’ll catch her if she falls.

She already has.


End file.
